Come What May
by Catgy
Summary: Two years after the fall of Corypheus, Lavellan meets Solas. Trespasser DLC, contains spoilers. Written primarily as catharsis for Solavellan feels!
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_ I finished Trespasser several days ago and the final scene was so heartbreaking ungh; writing this was strangely cathartic (although editing it was frustrating!) Contains major spoilers, obviously. I think some people may disagree with how I portrayed Lavellan here, but I was really holding out hope for some form of reconciliation. Also, what if Lavellan didn't mind watching the world burn with him at her side? ;)

* * *

Two years is an excruciatingly long time when your heart has been broken into a million little pieces by the one who you thought loved you. It is also frighteningly short, as I came to discover quickly. The Inquisition's work was never done - would probably never be done - even after the fall of Corypheus. Stuff like pining for love and shedding tears seemed superfluous, trivial somehow in the face of greater things.

The first few months after Solas' leaving were difficult. But as time wore on we were simply inundated with things to do, problems to solve, and while my heart ached still, I didn't have the luxury, strength, and energy to dwell upon it. It was only in the dead of the night, when sometimes I awoke, did I have time to think of him.

Which was a mixed blessing, actually. His departure was so sudden, and despite her best efforts, Leliana found herself unable to locate him. It was odd, surely, and I thought back of the time at the Temple of Mythal, when Abelas called him _elvhen_ with a cool sense of familiarity. When Solas told the sentinel that _his_ people still existed.

Solas was mysterious, cryptic, an engima. But yet he was _my_ anchor, my guide and _hahren_ in a strange world in which I was flung in under even stranger circumstances. He was ice like I was fire, tempered steel to my brash iron. He was calm, cool, collected. I could not understand him, even now, after these two years, when I thought I knew him. Maybe I never actually understood him at all.

The saddle jerking beneath me brought me back to reality. I laughed, a short barking sound that caused both Josephine and Cullen to turn their heads. Even after two years, I was no better on a horse. Now, marching amongst the Inquisition's troops, I had to be extra careful, lest I lose control of the armoured mount. Still, the sight of the troops, the grand parade, the towering Winter Palace – undoubtedly built on the blood of elves – instilled a sense of pride in me. Pride I never knew I had, and pride I thought I had lost. It still frightened me, somehow, that a Dalish girl, First to her Keeper, had gone on to spearhead one of Thedas' most powerful and influential organisations in the mere span of less than three years. The same Dalish girl, however, still felt lost in her shem clothes on her shem throne.

I looked across to see that Josephine was still looking at me, and in truth, I suspected she still worried for me. After that fateful day slightly more than two years ago when I had returned, bare-faced and morose through the gates of Skyhold, I think she suspected I had changed.

Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't want to deny it, I thought bitterly as we neared the gates. Solas said it was for the sake of my duty that he left, and I loosened my grip on the reins slightly as my thoughts turned back to the present.

My hand hurt. The ache had always been there, even after the fall of Corypheus, a dull feeling that marked the anchor as something entirely foreign. But as of late, the mark had begun hurting again. It had started as a slight itch, and now morphed slowly into a dull pressure. Sometimes, the pain would randomly flare up, like now. I grit my teeth and tightened the reins until I was very sure my knuckles were white beneath my gloves.

"Another parade, another bloody negotiation." Cullen, next to me, complained atop his horse. We were suited up in militaristic formal dress, and while I hated wearing the boots, I was at least glad I didn't have to show up as a shemlen princess. No doubt the Orlesians would get a kick out of that. Thank the creators for military dress.

"Smiles, everyone. We must be careful how we present ourselves." Josephine said carefully, and I bit my lip. Over the past two years the Inquisition had come to be viewed as a somewhat military organisation, which left both Orlais and Ferelden concerned about the potential threat at their doorsteps.

"Why did Divine Victoria call the Exalted Council? She's kept Orlais from bothering us for the last two years." Cullen continued softly beneath a guarded, careful smile.

"At increasing political cost, yes. She has done all she can, but the Exalted Council has become necessary." Josephine smiled politely as she waved at the Orlesian ambassadors. I mimicked her wave, having been schooled patiently in the way of their customs and etiquette by none other than her.

"Orlais would control us. And based on their many marriage proposals, they have specific plans for you." Josephine couldn't keep the smile out of her voice at the last part, and Cullen groaned.

"And Ferelden would see us disbanded." I continued softly even as we waved at the Fereldan ambassador. Arl Teagan's face was polite but reserved, his smile less effusive than Lord Cyril's. "You would think they would be more grateful." I couldn't keep the edge out of my voice.

"Gratefulness and fear can come hand in hand, Inquisitor." Josephine reminded softly. "Nevertheless, this council is necessary."

"I don't think I'll ever understand politics." Cullen sighed.

"You're not alone, then." I whispered as we neared the grand entrance. So much for saving the world.

* * *

It started with the body of a dead qunari. Which somehow led to a trail of blood which led to a secreted eluvian in the palace grounds.

Cassandra, next to me, muttered several choice curses. I could think of no better to describe the situation. The Inquisition's work was never really done, then. We entered, and emerged in a land full of bright and vivid colours. I recognised it, somehow, from a vague memory two years ago with Morrigan: The Crossroads.

It felt like old times; we were adventurers, companions, once more in a strange land. Dorian looked about curiously, having returned to the Exalted Council as the ambassador to Tevinter. His father was dead, assassinated he said, and now the Magisterium seat back at Minrathous awaited him. He wouldn't be coming back anymore.

Blackwall – Thom Rainier now – was still somber as usual, although after his reveal (and subsequent redemption) he seemed more at ease with himself, dedicating his life to give hope to the condemned and forgotten, showing faith in those who had none.

Of all the three companions around me now I could say that Cassandra changed the least, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. She still served the Divine – now Divine Victoria – and she still did so with the utmost zeal and pride. It was heartening to note that some among us still remained somewhat optimistic despite the events of the years past that have surely taken a toll on even the most hardened soul.

We were all changed, somehow, even though none wanted to admit it; and I was saddened to discover that, while this felt like old times, it was _nothing_ like old times. After the fall of Corypheus we had all gone our separate ways, and I was ashamed to admit that we kept in contact less than we should have. I felt like I was surrounded more by acquaintances than friends, although, truth be told, it was entirely my fault.

For in those months between the rebirth of the Inquisition and Corypheus' death, I had always stuck to Solas. I clung to him, and he was my closest friend and confidante; Dorian couldn't compare as a distant second. Perhaps Solas and I shared a common similarity, being both elves and mages, although he certainly wasn't Dalish, and I was convinced he wasn't a city elf.

But what drew me most to him, I reflected, as we trudged quietly along the path, was his quiet wisdom. His intelligence, his aura of charisma and mystery. I was smitten, like a halla enraptured by a wolf, and I couldn't pry myself away. Not that I wanted to, at all. Solas wore an armour about himself, built a fort to keep everybody out, and slowly but surely, I had chipped away at the wall, chipped away until I found his heart. And he had found mine.

"Inquisitor." Thom began, shaking me out of my useless thoughts.

"I'm sorry. Let's proceed." I said quickly, and ignored the dull ache in my hand as I led the way to the next eluvian.

* * *

What I found – what we found – in the elven mountain ruins was nothing less of a shocker. To say I was surprised would be a gross understatement, for we gleamed so much new knowledge that I had begun to rethink my people's lore.

We stumbled upon doors, gleaming gold in mosaic tiles like that we saw back at the Temple of Mythal, magicked and protected by a glowing green that shone even brighter when my anchor neared, that sent a wave of words tumbling and rushing through the very air. Words that were felt rather than heard, not only by me but by all of us:

 _Fen'Harel bids you welcome. Rest, knowing the Dread Wolf guards you and his people guard this valley. In this place, you are free. In trusting us, you will never be bound again._

"That was like veil fire. It claimed... This place was a refuge for elven slaves. This whole valley was a sanctuary, 'created by the Dread Wolf, Fen'Harel.'" I whispered aloud in reverence, at ancient knowledge, although it did little for my understanding. "This doesn't make sense. In Dalish legends, Fen'Harel is our god of misfortune."

There was more, as we proceeded further and further into the ruins, that only served to confound me even further. But the seeds of doubt were planted in my mind already, and there was no turning back.

 _Fen'Harel has been falsely named a god, but is as mortal as any of you. He takes no divine mantle, and asks that none be bestowed upon him. He leads only those who would help willingly. Let none be beholden but by choice._

"This is... Fen'Harel helping former slaves as a mortal. Not a god."

"He took great pains to renounce his supposed divinity." Cassandra chipped in helpfully, and I was grateful. For the lack of conversation between the four of us, I would have thought I was exploring the Dread Wolf's sanctuary alone.

 _The gods, our Evanuris, claim divinity, yet they are naught but mortals powerful in magic and can die as you can. In this place, we teach those who join us to unravel their lies._

Going past this final door, brought us to a large chamber. The qunari were dispatched ruthlessly and efficiently and I raced on ahead to a statue of a wolf, like so many I had seen before, surrounded by a large mural painted on a wall that surrounded the semi-circular room.

"That's Fen'Harel – removing Dalish vallaslin?" I held up the veil fire to the wall to get a closer look. The man was wearing the pelt of a wolf, his face partially obscured by its jaw. In one hand he held a staff, and in the other he removed the vallaslin from elves before him. _He removed the vallaslin..._

"Solas said they were used to mark slaves." My voice trembled slightly. Out of instinct rather than anything else, I lit the brazier beneath Fen'Harel's hand, and we watched, amazed, as the wolf statue in the centre of the room slid to the side to expose a descending flight of stairs.

I gulped, tightened the grip on my staff, and led the way down carefully.

And one last magicked door, another message, felt rather than heard:

 _The brand of the Evanuris can be lifted from you, that all may know you oppose their cruelties. None here are slaves. All are under our protection. All may choose to fight._

* * *

The Vir Dirthara was a beautiful place, splendid even in its decay. The archivist, however, painted a clearer if not more painful picture. She repeated the last words of many, more sensation and emotion than anything else. The Vir Dirthara, she explained, was the living knowledge of the elven empire. The last words of those caught when the paths crumbled, however, were much more telling.

 _"How could the Dread Wolf cast a Veil between the world that wakes and the world that dreams?"_

 _"After he held back the sky to imprison the gods, the Dread Wolf disappeared!"_

 _"You're wasting your time. Fen'Harel's Veil has turned our empire to ruins."_

"So the ancient elven empire collapsed because the Veil weakened magic?" I whispered, although it was more to myself than anything.

"Do you realise what this means? What this place is? The actual history of the elves could change everything." Dorian exclaimed.

I scarcely had time to ponder, and we had no time to investigate. The qunari were everywhere, and time was of the essence. It was one particular qunari, however, that gave me the penultimate piece I never knew was missing from my nonexistent puzzle.

She was the Viddasala, their leader, and she accused the Inquisition of helping the "agents of Fen'Harel" – the rebel god and his freed slaves. There was a self-satisfied smug look on her face, and I hated it. While she fled through the eluvian we quickly dispatched the qunari she sent after us. I was, however, more deep in thought than anything else. The archivist had provided answers to my questions, but had also raised a lot more new thoughts in my mind.

The knowledge I gained changed everything; all that my people knew and held true. Solas was right; the Dalish knew nothing, and instead stubbornly clung to their beliefs. But if he was right that we were wrong, then what, _exactly_ , was the truth?

* * *

"Ellana, you may want to take a look at this." Dorian held up a note from the table. We were at the top of a squat tower in Darvaarad now, having taken a quick break from the qunari crawling over the area. I took the note from him. It was written in a messy hand more accustomed to Qunlat than Common but still undeniably legible: _Excavated mural. Believed to be a self-portrait by Fen'Harel._

I lit the veil fire quickly and held it near the wall.

And there it was. A wall-length painting, of a man in robes, two large wolves behind him. One of the wolves had three eyes. A man – Fen'Harel – had his hands outstretched as he rose in the sky, his robes flowing behind him.

All the wolves, all the wolves. Murals in Skyhold. _Murals of wolves_. The final piece of my proverbial puzzle; now, at last, it was complete. Like the astrariums I encountered on my journeys, the dots, there all along, had finally been connected in my hazy mind. And now, I was finally one step closer to figuring out who Solas really was.

I felt faint, and stumbled slightly and braced myself against the rock. No, no no no no no, it couldn't be. It was impossible.

"Are you alright?" Firm hands supported me, and I turned to see the concerned face of the Seeker.

"I – I am fine. Just suddenly felt faint."

"It's the mark, isn't it?" Cassandra continued.

"I –" I looked at the mural quickly again. The figure before the wolves seemed so familiar suddenly, and I thought back of the other notes and letters and murals – all the other clues – I had found in the place.

 _A mural of Fen'Harel, the man wearing the pelt of a wolf, his face partially obscured by its jaw, removing the vallaslin from elves who then turned to stand behind him._

The removal of vallaslin. Slave markings. The god of rebellion. Instinctively I raised a shaking hand to touch my bare face. Whispers of a conversation from a long time ago.

 _"Then what I must tell you. The truth. Your face. The vallaslin. In my journeys in the Fade, I have seen things. I have discovered what those marks mean."_

 _"They honour the elven gods."_

 _"No. They are slave markings. Or at least they were, in the time of ancient Arlathan."_

 _"My clan's keeper said they honour the gods. These are their symbols."_

 _"A noble would mark his slaves to honour the god he worshipped. After Arlathan fell, the Dalish forgot."_

 _"So this is… what? Just one more thing the Dalish got wrong?"_

 _"I'm sorry."_

 _"If what you're saying is true, then my people vowed never to fall into slavery. Remove the vallaslin."_

Another whisper in my mind: _"That's Fen'Harel – removing Dalish vallaslin? Solas said they were used to mark slaves."_

I swallowed, and closed my eyes for balance. No, it can't be. I gripped the table for support and Cassandra stepped closer. I needed to breathe.

"I need some air." I pushed past my concerned friends softly as I stumbled out to the balcony. No _no no no_

I leant against the balustrades and felt faint. I was vaguely aware that the rest were staring, each encouraging each other to take a step forth, but I didn't care.

 _These walls of blue flame were cast by the agent of Fen'Harel as he ran through this place bringing chaos and destruction. Do not light fires from them. Do not go near them. Fen'Harel's Mage-servant made them to hamper us, and they bring only death._

I buried my face in my hands as I thought of what the Archivist back at Dir Virthara said, about the last words of those after the veil was formed.

 _"How could the Dread Wolf cast a veil between the world that wakes and the world that dreams?"_

 _"Fen'Harel's Veil has turned our empire to ruins."_

No no _no_!

 _Beware the forms of Fen'Harel! The Dread Wolf comes in humble guises, a wanderer who knows much of the people and the spirits._

My blood ran cold as I stood back upright and pushed myself away from where I had clutched the railings. There was only one explanation; one incredibly ridiculous but yet, in the face of overwhelming evidence, somehow plausible, explanation.

Solas was Fen'Harel.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:**_ Some deviation from canon. I really really _really_ wished reconciliation was an option in-game although it's definitely not so easy nor clear-cut to do so...

* * *

After I had taken some time to absorb my new knowledge and suspicions, we proceeded. I didn't tell any of them, not least because my palm was hurting, and talk made it difficult to control the spasms, but because I simply didn't know how they'll react, especially if my guess was anywhere near the mark.

It dawned on me then, that I had fallen in love with an elven god, and Fen'Harel, of all the Evanuris. I wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all, the Dalish girl who ascended a shem throne and who captured the heart of an immortal being. But it was also startlingly, frighteningly real, I reflected, as we made our way across the courtyard and to the great doors of the qunari fortress.

And so we burst into a chamber to find the Viddasala, and through the balcony, the sight of a dragon. Dragon's breath. It suddenly made sense.

"Inquisition! Nehraa Ataashi-asaara meravas adim kata!" The Viddasala fled, again.

I heard a sound then, the sound of boots scraping against the hard cobbled floor. The footfalls heavy, solemn, determined, _familiar_. I didn't want to look, I didn't want to know, so I stared ahead through the balcony at the struggling dragon.

The dragon's cry echoed through the air as the qunari spoke.

"Good call leaving me behind. The Viddasala asked me to lend a hand, though. Nothing personal... _bas_."

Iron Bull unsheathed his sword, and it glinted ominously in the dim light in the room.

My stomach lurched and I felt sick. Briefly I closed my eyes and prepared my magic. I had little choice in this matter.

"Dorian," I began, but my voice failed me. The look in his eyes said all he needed to know about his former lover, and that he knew all that we needed to do.

It was Cassandra who struck first, who brandished her sword and slashed furiously at her former comrade, now turned traitor. Steel rang against steel.

"Ir abelas, Bull." I whispered, and I released the mana within me.

* * *

"Panahedan, Inquisitor. If it is any consolation, Solas will not outlive you."

I hated how the Viddasala taunted me, hated how she had turned Bull against me, and how she was now chasing down Solas. A part of me wanted to laugh, as I wondered what a mere qunari could do to an elven god, to Solas of all people. But when she taunted me, said that Solas – an _agent_ of Fen'Harel – was ahead, I got angry.

I didn't miss the frowns on my friend's faces when I told them that we had to find Solas before her – that he was in danger. That was a lie, but I didn't care; but what shocked me more was the obvious disapproval that radiated from all of them, including Dorian. He of all people, should have understood my love and feelings towards Solas. None of them could understand how I felt, how Solas made me feel.

I was angry, and I channeled my anger to my magic, used it to power my fire and blade. I followed the Viddasala blindly, burning with my magic, and slashing with my ephemeral blade as we fought our way through the qunari to reach Solas before she did.

The large saarebas was dead, the pride demon he summoned gone, and we stood before a final eluvian. I sheathed my spirit blade and tightened my grip on my staff as I clenched my left fist to control the pain I knew was coming.

I stumbled as the pain hit me, and staggered back slightly. I drew in a deep breath, and nodded at my companions, and they followed me as I took a step through the glimmering eluvian, and to my destiny.

* * *

I blinked as I reappeared on the other side; I looked back, but none of my companions appeared. Maybe Solas intended it to be, if my suspicions were correct.

My boots scrunched against dirt, and I staggered back in shock as I came face to face with a qunari, petrified in stone. I collected myself, and pressed forward.

Each step was resolute, each step a hardened resolve. Come what may, I knew what I wanted to do. I hardened my heart and self. I would not show weakness. I could not.

Slowly, painfully slowly, I weaved my way through the stone statues. Time seemed to still, and my senses were hyper-alert. Each breeze against bare skin was cool and crisp, the scent of fresh leaves strong in the air, and my skin tingled.

I looked up the flight of stone steps that seemed endless, to see two figures standing there. My heart pounded even as the anchor flared. I grit my teeth, clenched my damned fist, and made my way up.

There was a sharp cry, cut off quickly, and as I ran up the last few steps I noticed that the qunari – the Viddasala – was now stone, and Solas was walking away slowly.

Solas, Solas, _Solas_. His name was balm to my wounds, and the sight of him, salvation. And standing there, looking at him, watching him turn to face me... I could hardly breathe. His eyes, steel grey with a tinge of blue, locked mine. He was outfitted in something similar to what Abelas wore back at the Temple of Mythal, except that he had a wolf pelt over it. Obviously, for the clues were there all along. I had only to look carefully.

"Solas." I began, and all words left me. _Vhenan, my heart, my love, my beloved_. "You are Fen'Harel." The word suddenly felt strange on my tongue, foreign, even though I had invoked his name in many curses, and sometimes when fighting alongside him. Ironically.

Solas – Fen'Harel – smiled, and I felt my stomach churn. This wasn't how I planned reconciliation to be, and if what I suspected was correct, he was not going to –

"Well done." He nodded slightly, and my cheeks burned as my heart raced. "The truth is much simpler, and much worse, than the qunari believe. It is my orb. I was Solas first. Fen'Harel came later... An insult I took as a badge of pride. The Dread Wolf inspired hope in my friends and fear in my enemies… Not unlike Inquisitor, I suppose."

 _Solas. Fen'Harel. Solas. Fen'Harel. Elven god._

"And now you know. What is the old Dalish curse? 'May the Dread Wolf take you?'" His voice was soft, almost sad.

"And so he did." I shook my head slowly, and a bemused, soft smile crossed my face.

"I did not. I would not lay with you under false pretenses."

Thoughts, unbidden, of skin against skin flew through my mind. Fleeting memories of the times we laid under the stars, bare skin against bare skin as we snuggled under and above his wolf fur. Of how he had refused me until he could take it no more, that first time we made love in a tent in Crestwood, several days after we had tried to rescue his spirit friend. And of course, Crestwood dredged up other memories. Of how he had broken up with me just several months later, after a brief passionate, but gentle, courtship.

"But you lied to me. I _loved_ you. Did you really think I wouldn't have understood?"

"Ir abelas, vhenan." _Vhenan, vhenan, vhenan._ He called me vhenan. His beloved, his one and only.

"Tel'abelas. If you care, give me the truth."

And he began. He told me of how the elven gods were Evanuris, powerful but mortal. Of how they came to be revered. And of how they had betrayed Mythal and killed her, their voice of reason, in their lust for power.

I listened, enraptured, as he told of how he created the Veil to banish them, as justice for her death, for a lifetime of imprisonment was the only appropriate punishment.

"Your legends are half right. We were immortal. It was not the arrival of humans that caused us to begin ageing."

He looked out upon the elven ruins, and I wanted nothing more than to reach out to him then and tell him it was okay, that everything would be alright; but I knew it wouldn't.

"It was me. The Veil took everything from the elves, even themselves."

Silence hung between us, and I looked about the ruins. The place was beautiful. The burden of guilt must have lain heavy on him for so many millennia. I couldn't – no, I didn't have the right to – pretend that I even understood how he felt, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

"That's the past. What about the future?"

"I lay in dark and dreaming sleep while countless wars and ages past. I woke still weak a year before I joined you. My people fell for what I did to strike the Evanuris down, but still some hope remains for restoration. I will save the elven people, even if it means _this_ world must die."

"Let me help you, Solas." I said quickly. _Come what may._

"I cannot do that to you, vhenan." He looked down and shook his head sadly. _Vhenan, vhenan, vhenan_. Beloved, one and only.

"But you would do it to yourself? I cannot bear to think of you alone."

"I walk the Din'Anshiral. There is only death on this journey. I would not have you see what I become."

"Please, Solas. What about us?"

"Whatever happens, I want you to know that what we had was real."

"Let me help, please."

Solas shook his head sadly. But the waves of pain rippling up my arm, and quickly increasing in intensity, brought me back to a more pressing issue.

"There's still the matter of the anchor. It's getting worse." I gritted my teeth.

"I know, vhenan. And we are running out of time. The mark will eventually kill you. Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you...at least for now."

I cried out and fell to the ground, clutching my left hand tightly and pressing it to my body to ease the pain.

"Solas, var lath vir suledin." _Please,_ Solas. _Our love will see us through._

"I wish it could, vhenan."

Another ripple of pain, and I screamed.

"My love..." He knelt before me then, a look of hurt contorted on his face, and I felt my heart break. The pain within me was far greater than that searing through my hand, and I barely managed to repeat myself through the pain.

"Please, don't go."

He was so near, so close, but yet so far. So unattainable. I breathed, and looked into his eyes. He was as confused as I.

And then slowly, imperceptibly slowly, he tilted his face slightly, and I closed my eyes for what was to come. His lips met mine, a soft and gentle kiss, a stark contrast to the passionate ones we shared in the past. It was tender, as if the hurt and pain over the past two years had distilled itself to a singular point, ready to burst any moment. He held my left hand gently in his, and the green glow intensified although I could feel no pain; his other hand cupped my cheek.

I hovered on a precipice, tension taut like a string as I struggled to maintain control over myself and my thoughts. I shivered as I realised Solas was really kissing me. It wasn't a dream anymore. It was real. He was real. _This was real._ He was leaving without me, and I couldn't allow it. He pulled apart and stood up. The kiss, bittersweet on my lips, would be the last.

 _No._

"I will never forget you." The look on his face was heartbreaking.

"No! Solas, please, don't! I need you, please." I stumbled up and grabbed his arm with my right. The mark on my hand glowed although I felt nothing. He didn't let go, although he had his back turned to me.

"I cannot let you follow me."

"Please. I'll do anything. Let me help you."

"All the more, no, vhenan. I cannot let you sacrifice everything that you've worked for, everything that you've done, for the sake of a mere man. Especially a man like me."

"You're not a mere man," and the tears ran freely down my cheeks. I barely felt the pain in my hand now. "You're my beloved. My one and only. My _vhenan_. Please." My hand was numb, and I wished it was my heart that was numb, instead.

"No. I...cannot."

"I have spent two years waiting for you, looking for you. And all I get is one kiss and a goodbye? Is that how you do things, Fen'Harel?"

He didn't answer, but his anguish was evident. He walked into the eluvian, and, fate be damned, I followed him.

* * *

I appeared in a place, bright with light. More ruins.

"Vhenan, do not follow me!" Solas was running ahead of me, away from me now.

"Solas, please!" I picked up my pace and chased after him, careful to avoid tripping. I was exhausted from the ordeals of the day, both physically and mentally, but I found strength in me to chase after him. This could be, after all, my last ever chance.

I didn't care that he wanted to destroy the world, I didn't care that he may likely release the elven gods that he claimed as evil and that went against all the teachings we had ever known of elven lore. I didn't care that he was the one who damned our people to a lifetime without immortality, for it was he who was our salvation in the first place, he who had created the Veil to protect us from the Evanuris.

The only thing I cared about was that he was Solas. My vhenan, my beloved, my one and only love. Two souls as one, that's what I thought we were and still could be. I would think about convincing him otherwise of his plan later. One step at a time.

"Please don't leave me behind." My voice was desperate even to my own ears, as I ran hunting for my wolf. I worried for a moment whether he had tired of me over the past two years, and that he was serious about me not following him, simply because he had fallen out of love with me already. My heart told my traitor mind _no_ , and I pressed on.

"I'm sorry, vhenan!"

"Augh!" I cried out as I clutched at my stupid hand. It hurt again, and I watched, transfixed, as Solas stopped – and turned around. A flicker of hesitation crossed his features. Almost inexplicably, another cry issued from my lips as I doubled down in pain, clutching my useless arm.

And then he was by my side. "It still hurts?"

"I don't know." I managed out. I felt faint as pain rippled up my arm and through me. "I thought the anchor was removed."

"It was." He held my hand carefully in his, his fingers wrapped around my bare palm. "But...the anchor has taken a toll on your hand, these few years. I am sorry, my love." His eyes were sincere, and I watched him carefully.

My hand was too far gone. It dawned upon me then as clearly as day.

"I can't feel my hand."

"What?"

"I can't. I can't feel it anymore!" I screamed as I clutched it and raised it above me. There was no sensation – nothing. I stared at my hand in horror, and colour drained from my face as I realised that my hand was limp and weak, barely able to support itself.

"The nerves, gone. No sensation." Even as I said the words I knew what I had to do. As a useless limb it could only do more harm than good, a hindrance in battle, a potential weakness for enemies to exploit.

"Solas, my heart, help me."

"I cannot do what you ask of me." His eyes widened.

"Then I will do it myself." I wriggled my hidden dagger from its sheath at my belt and positioned it comfortably in my right hand, testing its weight. Solas stared at me as I held the dagger like a knife over my left forearm.

"No." He said finally. "I'll help you. Make it painless."

He knelt before me again, and I pressed against him, wrapping my other arm about him and wanting to feel him against me. I didn't have that chance just now, and I wasn't about to let the opportunity slip me by, especially if Solas was insistent that I could not accompany him. I would take every moment I could with him. He held me close, strong arms about me, and I could almost taste his magic, his aura. Evanuris. Hot tears sprang to my eyes as I realised rather belatedly, again, that I had fallen in love with a god – and that a god had fallen in love with me. I could hardly believe it.

"I just need you to say the word." He said softly, gently.

"Now, vhenan."

And then – nothing. I felt nothing at my left forearm, and for a moment I worried that his spell hadn't worked. But then I looked down at my left arm and saw – nothing. I was left with a small stump below my left elbow where I knew my arm to be, and there was scarcely a scratch. The skin was pink, as if healed, and there was no trace of blood, nor of a removed arm, and I was thankful for that.

"Thank you, my heart." I snuggled close to him as a tear escaped my eye. My mind was made up, my resolved strengthened. Come what may, whether he would accept or not, I would follow Solas to the ends of the world.

* * *

I returned to the rest later. For a while. I was afraid he would leave while I was gone, although part of me knew he wouldn't. I was in too deep.

My left forearm was gone, and although I could still cast and channel, I worried whether it would hamper me in any way. The pain the anchor brought was also quite literally far removed, no thanks to my beloved. I could scarcely believe it, scarcely believe the choice I was making and had already committed in mind, consequences be damned.

I paused before the eluvian, took a deep breath, and walked through.

"Inquisitior!" Thom was at my side immediately. They had evidently been waiting around the eluvian for me to reappear.

"How long was I gone?"

"Not long. But long enough that we were starting to get concerned."

I could have sworn I had spent hours talking with Solas, trying to persuade him otherwise of his plan, but ultimately deciding to accompany him, whatever his decision. Part of me told myself that I was insistent on following him just so I could convince him not to destroy the world, but deep down I knew that it was simply because I couldn't be without him.

"Are you alright?" Cassandra held onto me gently as I stumbled.

"Her hand." Dorian muttered, and Cassandra drew back immediately.

"It's...gone." Her face turned pale. "Where is Solas? Did you find him? Did he do this?"

"Solas..." Oh, vhenan. _Solas, Solas, Solas_. "Removed the anchor. But my hand was too far gone, so I removed it. It would be a hindrance, otherwise."

"What happened? The qunari? We need to know." Cassandra said quickly.

In as little words as I could, for I had begun rehearsing my lines the moment my mind was made up, I explained, lies covered with white lies covered with a thin veneer of truth. I didn't know whether they bought it, but frankly, I didn't care.

My only thoughts were of reuniting with my beloved when the Exalted Council was settled. I led the party back quickly, careful to avoid any telling shows or revealing information about the decision I had made for myself. They couldn't – mustn't – see the cards I had in my hand and were about to play. It pained me, that I had to lie and deceive and trick, but nobody said I was a selfless person to begin with.

Was it necessarily wrong to take certain actions in the name of love? Was it wrong to want to stand by your lover's side, no matter what? What _is_ good and evil? Still, I had no doubt that my friends would hate me after all this was over. That didn't make what I was about to do any easier.

* * *

I paused in front of the door and held on more firmly to the tome with my good hand. It was a deep shade of red, embossed with a silver symbol that was radiant amidst the candle light. A familiar tome, drawn out when the Inquisition was reformed three years ago, and now, when it was to be disbanded.

I could hear the shouting from within the room as I hurried down the hallway.

"The Inquisition did not cause this threat. We informed the summit of the danger –"

I flung the doors open.

"The danger posed by qunari spies inside _your_ organisation!" Stupid, stupid Teagan.

"Without our organisation, you would not be alive to complain."

"No one has forgotten what you have done. But Corypheus is two years dead. If the Inquisition is to continue, it must do so as a legitimate organisation, and not a glorified mercenary band." Teagan sighed and thumbed his temples. I looked around expectantly, and soon the room was filled with an audible hush.

"You all know what this is. A writ from Divine Justinia authorising the formation of the Inquisition." I held up the tome for all to see. "We pledged to close the breach, find those responsible, and restore order. With or without anyone's approval."

There was some murmuring in the crowd, and I continued. "We have fulfilled that pledge. And now the war is over, for most of us. It is time for our soldiers to sheathe their swords and go home. To all who served: thank you. It has been an honour." I looked upon the room one last time and gave a slight nod; evidently everybody had been stunned speechless, for nobody said a word.

I walked out of the door then and to my destiny. Part of me felt terrible, horrible at my betrayal. Some were obviously relieved to see us disband, although deep down I was acutely aware of my ulterior motive in doing so. Our efforts against Solas would be weaker, but more secure and less prone to corruption, they said.

We gathered later, for one last time, at the large balcony once more. I watched as my friends said their goodbyes, watched as Varric handed Cassandra one of those books she loved so much. Vivienne left our little gathering first, and then Sera.

Soon there were none left, and I stood alone at the balustrades watching out upon the world. My left hand itched, and I reached out to scratch it, only to reach at thin air. I had forgotten it was gone, but it tingled slightly, like a phantom limb.

I left that night, making certain that nobody was following me.

I was aware that convincing Solas to abandon his plan may be an impossibility, but if redemption wasn't possible, then at least reconciliation could remain an option. Solas was adamant that I not follow him, but yet I knew him well enough that he wouldn't willingly endanger me. I had set out on this path already, and it was too late to turn back.

For I was a traitor, _harellan._ Not Solas, not Fen'Harel, but me. Even if the world were to burn, I would remain by his side and watch it go up in flames. For there was nothing I wouldn't do for him _. Come what may._


End file.
